


Here I Am

by BobDTigr



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, and maybe even love interests idk how bad i want this to be yet, and will prob be underdeveloped, bridgette is a cutie i love her, felix is a butt, hes actually really hard to write, i called him wilson bc thats my placeholder name, i dont know anything about the quantic kids, like i was excited but now im not but oh well, so they are oc as hell, why doesnt kid mime have an irl name
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7754641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobDTigr/pseuds/BobDTigr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An heir to his father's banking empire, and a daughter to two small Parisian bakers- Felix and Bridgette come from completely different worlds. But one day, their fates intertwine, though they may not know it yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions: Felix Agreste

**Author's Note:**

> I want this to be good but I also don't want to put in the effort for this to be good you feel me?  
> Please enjoy <3

Dark, heavy raindrops pounded against the thick glass of the airport limousine window. In the back of the needlessly air-conditioned vehicle sat two people, both quietly observing the surrounding grey landscape through the blurry glass. One of them was Gabriel Agreste, a world-renowned businessman and the CEO of Agreste & Sons, a largely influential corporate bank.

The other was his son, Félix.

The relation between them was unmistakable. They sat with the same stiff, straight posture, the same thin line scowled across their pale lips, the same unreadable expression in their stormy grey eyes. Their only source of movement was the occasional pothole for which the driver would hastily apologize, the slight bump shattering their statue-esque demeanours for a brief moment.

Félix's gaze languidly followed the landmarks as they passed by. _Tree. Tree. Farmland. Paris, 10 km. Farmland. Tree._ He tried to pinpoint something that felt familiar to him, but failed. It had been ten years since he was in France, after all- he supposed it would have been stranger if he did remember it. In the end, it didn't matter much to him. He was used to feeling like a foreigner, having followed his father all around the world as the Agreste empire expanded. Two years in England, another three in America, several-month-long stints in China, India, and Dubai and some other countries. And now they were back in Paris, just in time for his final year of schooling at one of Europe's most elite business lycée's.

The car jerked to an abrupt stop. The sudden disturbance diverted both Félix and Gabriel's attention forward, where they were met with the static crimson light of the rain-dirtied car in front.

"Traffic," the driver explained in a matter-of-fact tone, as though the large number of surrounding cars weren't immediately obvious. He cautiously leaned back in his seat, casting a wary glance into his rear view mirror.

Gabriel sighed, bringing up his hand to check his watch. "I have an appointment at 16 h that absolutely cannot be missed."

"Sorry, monsieur." They rolled forward a couple of metres. "Not much I can do. Looks like there was an accident or something."

Félix clicked his tongue in annoyance, propping his elbow against the leather interior of the car to rest his jaw against his knuckles. The driver visibly relaxed. They drove along in a sullen silence.

After half an hour or so they finally reached the city's inner core, just as the rain was beginning to lift.

Miraculously, Gabriel was not late for his meeting.

As they turned the last corner, Félix was met with the view of the looming grey brick walls of his childhood home. He took a sharp intake of breath as the driver pulled into the half-circle driveway, or at least as attempted to, since there was a large group of apparent paparazzi wielding cameras and microphones taking up most of it.

"Kid." The driver couldn't hide his surprise. "You famous or something?"

"You could say that," Félix replied coldly, unbuckling his seatbelt. "How much?"

"Hmm?" The driver glanced up from the window. "Oh, the tab- right. Fifty-five euros."

Félix leaned forward, pressing a few crisp bills into the driver's hand, who then immediately turned to collect the change, not noticing the two successive _thuds_ that followed.

"Um, monsieur," he piped up after a few seconds, looking back. "I don't have enough change for-"

The backseat was empty. Outside, he could see the young man shoving his way through the crowd, luggage in tow, up to the front gate of the beautiful-looking mansion. Looking back down at the thin stack of fifty euro notes in his hand he shrugged.

"Must be nice," he said to himself before driving off.

Félix let out a sigh of relief as he shoved the front door closed behind him with his back. It was naïve of him to have expected the media wouldn't find out the Agreste's were back in town, although he had been hopeful when his father had made it into his business building unscathed. He could still hear the reporters screaming for him, which was itself a remarkable feat considering there was not only a good thirty feet between the front door and the gate, but the house itself was supposedly soundproof.

Evidently, state-of-the-art soundproofing technology was no match for good old-fashioned megaphones.

As Félix relaxed, he allowed himself to fully take in his surroundings. The entrance was a long, wide foyer culminating in a grand, carpeted staircase, complete with high ceilings and a statement chandelier- Swarovski crystals, no doubt. There was not a single speck of dust to betray the fact that no one had lived in the house for ten years; in fact, as far as Félix could recall, not a single thing had been changed from when he last saw it.

He carefully slipped off his wet shoes and soundlessly crept up the stairs. His room was in the back right corner of the house, his feet moving on memory alone. His door was the only one open in this wing of the house, and when he stepped inside he was immediately greeted by a wave of nostalgia. Hazy sunlight filtered in through the blinds on both windows, softly illuminating the room. The walls were painted that familiar shade of periwinkle blue, a colour he proudly selected at five years old after days of serious deliberation.

The furniture in the room was completely different- bigger, of course. He was much taller at seventeen than at seven. His white bookshelves, once filled with picture books and action figures, were filled with volumes upon volumes of novels, plays, and textbooks. The matching desk stood empty save for a lamp, that he hesitated to turn on. The instantaneous shadows felt oddly strange, and he immediately flicked it off.

He experimentally pulled open one of the drawers, but nothing was in it.

A warm-looking white comforter was spread invitingly atop the king-sized bed, and Félix left his luggage at the foot of the bedframe. He turned to the closet, slowly opening the door to discover a row of expensive clothes, all his current size, hanging crisp from the hangers. Not finding what he needed, he tried the armoire, where he located a drawer filled with sets of silk pyjamas. He closed it with a sigh and instead crouched down beside his suitcase and zipped it open, thumbing through the neatly folded clothes to find a pair of sweat pants and a plain cotton tee shirt at the bottom.

He undressed quickly and left his stiff pants and dress shirt in an unsightly pile at the corner of his bed. Following suit, he let himself collapse into the soft memory foam mattress. A quick run of fingers through his pale blond hair completely mussed the gel-stiffened locks that had been held perfectly in place through an eight hour flight. For a brief moment he considered taking a shower, but his fatigue combined with the comfort of a luxury bed encapsulated him and he soon fell deeply asleep.


	2. Introductions : Bridgette Dupain-Cheng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridgette has really bad luck :(

Bridgette was the kind of person who had had her fair share of bad days, her clumsy nature an unlucky curse which more often than not ruined her day. Occasionally, like when she wanted to get out of chores or gym class, being able to fall "accidentally" was certainly useful.

But when she was running home from the Saturday market trying to avoid the heavy rain, it certainly _was not_.

It started that morning, with her staring rather dismally out the bakery window at the pouring rain and the promise she made to her mother the day before to pick up fresh groceries weighing heavily on her mind. The market was a fifteen minute walk away, five minutes if she ran, so when the rain finally ceased in the late afternoon she took off as fast as she could.

As she ran she recited the list of fruits and vegetables she needed to buy in her mind. _Strawberries, for the cake. Blueberries for the muffins, raspberries for the jam, carrots for the soup we're having for dinner tonight. What else, what else? Right. Apricots. They're in season._

As soon as she got to the plaza she took a mental note of all the stalls that were located there, quickly planning the most efficient path to purchase everything. As she waited for the customers in front of her at the first stall to pay, she impatiently bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, looking up at the dark sky with a worried expression every few seconds.

"Bridgette!" The market vendor greeted her amicably as she weighed the cartons of strawberries she was handed. "How are your parents?"

"Good," Bridgette replied politely, gathering change in her wallet.

"That's great to hear!" The cheerful lady chuckled, putting the berries back on the counter. "That'll be six euros and ten cents. Is that everything, dear?"

"Mmhm," Bridgette counted out the coins and dropped them into the lady's palm. "Thank you!"

"Anytime!" The vendor smiled, watching the pair of long black pigtails swish as the small girl ducked her way through the crowd.

Bridgette marvelled at her unusual luck that it still hadn't rained by the time she finished buying the last item on her mental list. Calling out a rushed _merci_ to the vegetable seller, she repositioned her hold on the two heavy bags she carried in each hand before taking off again.

As she turned the last corner before her family's bakery, something felt different. She glanced around briefly, trying to find the outlier, when she heard it. A mass of people, shouting at something, that seemed to be coming from… her left. And to her left was a mansion, a beautiful one at that, but as far as she remembered no one actually lived there.

As she continued running down the sidewalk she came into view of the house's front gate, where she noted a large group of people with cameras and sound equipment, huddled on the driveway. _It's no wonder somebody famous lives there,_ she thought, grinning to herself. She had half a mind to stop and try to find out who it was, but one quick look at the threatening sky and all she did was speed up even more.

As Bridgette was about to hop off the curb and cross the street, a large blue car intercepted her, hardly braking to turn at the corner. She stumbled backward and caught her heel on a loose cobblestone. Completely caught off balance, she fell down, landing butt-first into a large, very unappealingly-hued puddle of water. It splashed up, covering her entire back.

"Hey!" She whipped her head to shout at the vehicle, but it was off no use. Through the darkened glass she caught a glimpse of a teenage boy maybe around her age, not unattractive by any means but with rather severe straight features that she didn't immediately recognize. As he passed her, Bridgette noticed a flash of fear cross his face as he was confronted with the image she herself had seen just a few seconds ago, only for him to be instantaneously recomposed with his earlier harsh indifference.

She sat there on the sidewalk watching the limousine turn into the driveway when yet another car hurriedly turned the same corner, this time driving straight into the collected water on the side of the street. Dirty rainwater rose up and drenched her completely.

"Hey!" She screamed again, but again it was of no use, they were already gone. She inspected her groceries, glad to have had the foresight to carry them in plastic bags which protected them for the most part. With a sigh she got up and looked both ways before stepping onto the street, carefully striding her way across to reach the other side where her family's bakery proudly stood.

The little golden bell jingled its familiar tune as Bridgette pulled open the foggy glass door. The scent of freshly baked goods attacked her nostrils, and she stayed at the entrance for a moment, wiping her shoes on the welcome mat and letting herself feel the comfortable warmth.

She stepped briskly aside as the customer her mother was just helping made her way for the exit, and she took the opportunity to step up to the register while her mother was distracted in the kitchen.

"Maman!" She called out, setting the wet bags on the floor behind the register. "I got the groceries, they're a little wet though!"

"Huh?" Her mother called out from the kitchen. "What did you say?"

"Groceries!" Bridgette shouted a little louder. "They're wet!"

"Yes, okay, sweetie!"

Bridgette sighed, not bothering to try again. She made her way up the stairs and into her room, where she quickly undressed and tossed the wet clothes into the laundry basket. She took a quick shower to hopefully wash away the unfortunate scent of the dirty water that had lingered in her long black hair and afterward plopped down sideways on her bed, wet towel and all. She stretched over to her nightstand to grab her phone, mindlessly checking her social media before noticing that it had begun raining again.

Sighing, she sat up and walked over to the window. Through the raindrops she could see the grey blurs of the giant mansion, and for a second she thought she could see a light flicker on, but she wasn't entirely sure.

Bridgette suddenly felt a twinge of curiosity about the mysterious newcomer. Thumbing in the passcode on her phone once more, she opened up a tab with Google before realizing she had no clue what to search up. "Famous people arriving in Paris" didn't yield any relevant results, and she set the phone down on her desk with a hum of dissatisfaction. She looked once more toward the grey building, hoping to see another light, but there was nothing. Giving up, she put on a fresh pair of clothes, and went downstairs to see if her parents needed any help with the bakery.


End file.
